


To Live With Societal Standards

by caricature_of_intimacy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Frerard, M/M, mainly gerard growing up and struggling to come to terms with himself i guess, some internalized homophobia i guess??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:45:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caricature_of_intimacy/pseuds/caricature_of_intimacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time I thought about what it was, it was late at night. I was ten years old, and my brother Mikey had a friend over. I was in my room reading a comic book. Mikey’s friend said hi to me and smiled when he passed. I felt weird; it was late. I quietly crawled between the covers, willing myself to sleep. I was worried. I was alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Live With Societal Standards

**Author's Note:**

> I was bored one night and I decided to write a short oneshot so if you like it that's cool I guess.

The first time I thought about what it was, it was late at night. I was ten years old, and my brother Mikey had a friend over. I was in my room reading a comic book. Mikey’s friend said hi to me and smiled when he passed. He was kinda pretty, I noticed, and I hid behind my book because I didn't want him to look at me. I heard him chuckle, his footsteps getting further away. I felt weird; it was late. I quietly crawled between the covers, willing myself to sleep. I was worried. I was alone.

The second time I thought about what it was, I was at a stupid pool party with my family. I was eleven years old, and there were so many people around; there were so many boys around. I didn’t know what to do. They were all talking and laughing and wet and shirtless. I panicked. I left the party and walked home. It took nearly two hours. The door was locked. Of course. Everyone else was at the party. I crawled through the window. I was alone.

The third time I thought about what it was, a movie was playing in the background. I was thirteen years old, and my friend Tyler and I were watching Night of the Living Dead, sharing a bowl of popcorn. Tyler had dark brown hair, light brown eyes, and a smile brighter than the sun. I said something out loud, and he laughed. His laugh sounded like music. My heart did a flip flop. I excused myself and went to the bathroom, locked the door, sat on the floor with my head in my hands. I was confused. I was alone.

The fourth time I thought about what it was, I wanted to cry. I was sixteen years old, and Mikey had introduced me to his girlfriend, and I wanted to cry, and I didn’t know why I wanted to cry. My friend Lindsey liked me, but I didn’t want to date Lindsey, and I didn’t know why I didn’t want to date Lindsey, and I wanted to cry. My parents had vaguely explained these types of feelings. They had said, “At your age, you might start having some new feelings towards girls, and this is okay! It’s a completely normal thing to feel!” Towards _girls_ , they had said. So why did I feel this way about boys? My parents had never mentioned anything about feelings for boys. I needed to tell someone what was going on. I needed to not be alone.

Early in the morning before school, I went into Mikey’s room. I was nervous, but I knew I had to get it out, and Mikey was the only person I trusted. I told him that I wasn’t really interested in dating girls, that I’d never even thought about girls that way. He looked at me, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

“Are you gay?” he asked. I blinked. Gay? I didn’t know that word had any definition other than “stupid”. I always heard people use it in the place of stupid, anyway. So I shrugged and said, “Well, I mean, I think I kinda like boys?” Mikey shook his head at me.

“That means you’re gay, Gerard,” he said. I didn’t respond. He punched my shoulder and told me it was fine, it was normal. "It" now had a name. I wasn’t the only one. I wasn’t alone.

The last time I thought about what it was, I was in the dark in the basement ignoring the buzzing of my phone. I was seventeen years old, and my first boyfriend had broken up with me the day before. My friends were trying to reach out to me, asking if I was okay, but I wasn’t answering their texts. What had I done wrong? Why had he dumped me so suddenly like that? I’d thought we were happy. I lit a cigarette. I didn’t care. I never even loved him. Fuck him. I didn’t care. I was ignoring my mom, who would come by every few hours to ask if I was ready to talk. I wasn’t. I forced myself to be alone.

After a few days of wallowing in self pity, I decided it was probably time to tell her. I dragged myself out of bed, quietly opened the door, and went upstairs. “Hey mom?” I called out uncertainly. I heard her voice coming from the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, I entered the room and went over to her. “Can I talk to you?” I asked cautiously.

“Of course, honey, about anything!” She sounded worried. I sighed. I guessed it was as good a time as any. The moment was never going to be perfect.

“So, I’m kinda… I mean…” I hesitated. I tried to push away the nerves. I tried to ignore the fear. “I’m gay,” I finished quietly, eyes glued to the floor. She didn’t say anything. I was too scared to look up; I didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes. I felt her hand on my arm.

“I love you, Gerard. It’s okay,” she said gently. I raised my head to meet her gaze; I didn’t see disappointment. She put her arms around me. I wasn’t alone.

When I was in college, I met a boy. Correction: when I was in college, I _fell in love_ with a boy. He had black hair, hazel eyes, and a love for dogs. He also played guitar better than anyone I’d ever met. His name was Frank; my heart beat a little faster and my smile got a little wider when we were together. We were in Starbucks, waiting for our drinks and discussing the new batman comic that had been released a few days before. Afterwards, we walked down the street, sipping our coffees, and I brushed my fingers against his. He tried to hide his smile. He laced our fingers together. I tried to hide my smile. We stopped walking, and faced each other. He squeezed my hand. I softly pressed my lips against his. People passed by all around us, but we didn’t pay attention to them.

We were alone.

It was the good type of alone.


End file.
